


Christmas Tail

by molo (esteefee)



Series: Venice Place [5]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Crack, Established Relationship, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another crisis strikes Venice Place.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Starsky came crashing through the door of Hutch's apartment at Venice Place, his face twisted with anxiety.

"Hutch! Thank God you're here."

Hutch rose to his feet, alarmed, and watched as Starsky made a beeline for the .357 hanging on the wardrobe. He yanked it off and tossed it toward Hutch.

"Starsk! What is it?" He automatically began strapping on the heavy gun.

"No time," Starsky panted, grabbing him by the arm and propelling him toward the door. "We gotta MOVE."

They plummeted down the stairs and into the waiting Torino, which Hutch was shocked to discover Starsky had left unlocked. _This must be serious,_ Hutch thought.  
  
He reached out and stopped Starsky's hand before he could turn the key in the ignition.

"Wait. Tell me what we're getting into, here. I take it the situation's bad?"  
  
"The worst." Starsky confirmed it, his brow drawn with apprehension. As Hutch watched, the beloved blue eyes filled slowly with crystal tears, persuading Hutch that the circumstances were even direr than he had imagined.

"It's...Hutch, we have to save Christmas!"

Hutch opened his door with a yank and got out of the car.

"Wait! Hutch!" He heard Starsky hastily exiting and pounding up behind him.

"Quit tuggin' at me," Hutch muttered, yanking his arm away.

"But you gotta help, Hutch! You just have to!"

"Lemme guess," Hutch said. "Santa's elves have all been kidnapped by an evil toy magnate." His tone was perhaps a little sarcastic.

Starsky whacked him on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Hutch much preferred it when Starsky slapped a different part of his anatomy.

"This isn't funny, Hutch," Starsky said as he followed him back into his apartment. While Hutch unslung his holster, Starsky started relating a convoluted story involving Babcock, a pet cat, his 80 year-old player piano, and the paper rolling mechanism contained within.

"Starsk," Hutch cut him off finally, not wanting to hear the gory details, "what the hell does that have to do with me? And how the hell is my Magnum supposed to solve the problem?"

"Oh." Starsky gave him a sheepish look. "I meant to grab your guitar. See, we need someone to play for tonight's Christmas carol sing-along."

Hutch groaned and trudged off to the bedroom.

"Hey, where're you going?" Starsky said, sounding pissed. "Hutch, you _have_ to do this! You have to save Christmas!"

"What I have to do," Hutch said, toeing off his shoes, "is crawl right into this bed and not wake up until your crazy, stupid holiday is nothing but a bad memory."

Starsky came around him and put both hands on his shoulders. Hutch froze, trapped, as always, by the compelling warmth of his partner's grip. And the way the soft brown hair was curling from the opening of his shirt. And the vaguely spicy (but not in an eggnog kind of way) odor that wafted from Starsky's lean, sculpted body, up into Hutch's nostrils and straight into his brainpan, where it proceeded to dance the mambo on his central nervous system.

"Hutch," Starsky whispered throatily, and Hutch shivered a little. "You know I love ya, right?"

Hutch nodded dumbly.

"And you know..." Here Starsky leaned in close, his groin brushing Hutch's suggestively, saying, "...I'd do _anything_ for you, right? I mean _anything_ your little heart..." Starsky reached between them and squeezed Hutch's cock lightly. "...desires, right?"

Hutch closed his eyes and nodded, his face contorting in a rictus of need.

"And you also know," Starsky's voice hardened, "if you don't do this for me, the next time you get to put this sweet monster up my ass will be _next_ Christmas."

Hutch's eyes opened.

"You know that, right?" Starsky said darkly.

"That's...that's sick! That's fucking blackmail!"

"You're darn tootin'."

"And anyway, _you_ know that you wouldn't last a week before you were begging for it," Hutch said smugly.

"Yeah, but we _both_ know I won't have to, because you are going to put your shoes on, grab your guitar, and come with me, right now" Starsky said, not disguising the triumph in his voice.

Hutch nodded miserably.

"And don't forget to bring extra strings. It's gonna be a long night."

Starsky dropped his grip on Hutch's shoulders and bent to pick up his shoes, giving him an ample view of the target of his affections.

 _Longer than you know, buddy,_ he thought, as he viewed his soon-to-be reward.

On the way downstairs, Hutch started humming "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful."

  
 _Finis._


	2. A New Year's Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another crisis strikes Venice Place.

The door to Hutch's Venice Place apartment flew open and shuddered to a banging halt against the wall. Starsky stood panting in the entry.

"Lemme guess," Hutch said, not looking up from his issue of _National Geographic_. "We have to save New Year's."

"Hutch!" Starsky gasped. "Bunnies!"

"We have to save Easter? Isn't it a bit early?"

"No!" Starsky staggered over to Hutch's closet and pulled down his suitcase. "Bunnies! Playboy Bunnies! Dozens of them are coming to Huggy's New Year's Eve party, and he says they all need costumes." Starsky started pulling Hutch's ties willy-nilly from the rack and dumping them into the suitcase.

Hutch growled ominously.

"Don't be that way, Hutch," Starsky said cajolingly. "It's not like you ever wear these. And, anyway, we can always replace 'em at Woolworth's for about twenty bucks."

The growl had gained momentum and was heading toward a rumble.

Starsky kept pillaging. "Hutch?" he squeaked when his wrist was grabbed by a very large hand which twisted once, forcing him to release the silver-and-blue striped polyester tie currently in his grasp.

"Playboy Bunnies do not wear neckties. They wear bowties," Hutch said with precision.

"Well, sometimes they—"

"And there are no Playboy Bunnies coming to Huggy's party."

"Are too!" Starsky said hotly. "Huggy told me himself!"

Hutch sighed in exasperation. "You were hanging around, weren't you, claiming to help him get set up, but mostly just getting in the way, all excited about the party and driving Huggy crazy until finally he told you about the Bunnies just to get you out of his hair."

Starsky ducked his head.

"That's how it went down, I reckon," Hutch said.

"There _could_ be some Playboy Bunnies. Couldn't there?" Starsky asked, his deep azure blue eyes glowing with holiday hope.

Hutch sighed and nodded reluctantly, then winced at the whoop of joy. He turned and went back to the couch to leaf very deliberately though his magazine to the article on Amazonian tribal rituals. He pondered putting a chunk of ivory through Starsky's lower lip.

"Uh. Hutch?" Starsky sounded contrite.

Hutch made a noncommittal sound.

"You know I wasn't planning on _doing_ anything with the Bunnies...right?"

Hutch shrugged and kept reading. Maybe he could hook a lead weight to it.

"I mean, they're just for show, like."

"For you to ogle, you mean," Hutch mumbled.

A warm hand planted itself on his thigh just below the edge of his orange robe. Hutch forced himself not to react. This proved to be increasingly difficult as the hand started to move northerly, advancing three inches to retreat two, and so on.

And so on.

Hutch's robe rapidly adopted a terry-covered bulge.

Starsky pounced.

Later, Hutch was unable to explain to Huggy why he'd appeared at the party wearing nothing but a closely-wrapped towel and a silver-and-blue striped polyester tie.

But at least Starsky had something to ogle.

  


Finis.


End file.
